Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams
by NotMarge
Summary: Those red bellied piranhas, they really do bring people together.
1. Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

* * *

"Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?"

The Addams Family library housed legions upon legions of ancient and eldritch tomes.

All first editions, bound in leather, animal skin, and papyrus.

Written in iron gall ink, charcoal, and animal blood.

They were unique, one-of-a-kind, priceless treasures, no doubt.

But as centuries pass and new discoveries are made and new thoughts considered, new books find themselves inevitably written and published.

And Gomez Addams, supportive, doting father though he was, did not have any of his children signed up for Dolly Patton's Imagination Library.

So there surely were a few worthy prose the members of the Addams family had not yet devoured.

And every town has a library.

Even the humble hamlet that stood near Cemetery Ridge.

And bright and clean and cheery as it may unfortunately be, it was the closest book station they had . . .

"Yes, good afternoon, dear lady."

. . . to patron.

"We are looking for a book on, um, what was it again, Wednesday?"

Wednesday Addams stepped forward, addressing her father not entirely unkindly.

"I can speak for myself, you know."

The well-to-do pater familias of the Addams family, outfitted in complete vested striped suit and bowed tie, nodded amicably and stepped aside, gesturing differentially toward the reception desk and the head bibliognost therein.

"By all means . . ."

To which the ghostly child stepped forward to she whom had welcomed all manner of readers into her library over years.

"Hello, young lady."

Wednesday Addams' mother and father had rigorously instructed her in social manners, along with table etiquette and dungeon safety protocol.

"Hello. I'm looking for a book on dangerous animals of the South American rainforest. By F. Bernard Henley."

Mrs Phelps appeared to mull briefly before nodding.

"Oh yes, we do have that book. But I think it's been checked out. Let me take a look."

As she turned to check her daily list, the sound of a singularly squeaky wheel cut the lawful quiet of the still library.

Wednesday turned her neatly braided head to witness a nondescript little girl pulling a book-laden Red Rocket wagon by its handle along behind her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Phelps," she called out primly to the bent back of the librarian as she pulled up. "I've brought back the books I borrowed."

The old lady smiled and gestured an arthritic hand toward a low counter near the girl.

"Thank you very much, Matilda. Just stack them on the counter there, dear."

"Yes, ma'am."

The little girl with the big red bow in her straight black hair obediently reached down and carefully began lifting the books from the wagon to the counter.

She inspected their covers, probably not for the last time, with fondness before setting them reverentially on the provided space.

They were all large books with impressive names like Getting to Know Your Geraniums and Lost Civilizations of the Ancient Mayans.

And Dangerous Animals of the South American Rainforest.

Wednesday reached down and picked up the book.

"I just finished that one," the little girl informed her. "It has fascinating information on red-bellied piranhas. Chapter twelve."

Wednesday's gaze set on the younger girl.

"Yes," she replied in her own unique intonations. "We're looking at getting one for Pugsley's tank."

The little girl seemed to consider this information carefully before responding.

"Is Pugsley your fish?" she quiered.

Wednesday opened the book, running a black painted finger down the table of contents to Chapter Twelve: 'Red-Bellied Piranha: Teeth of Death'.

"My brother."

No apparent alarm crossed Matilda's intelligent and serene features.

"A piranha will eat your other fish," she stated mildly.

Wednesday Addams might have considered smiling thinly had she not been Wednesday Addams.

"I'm counting on it."

The little girl might have thought of being creeped out had she not been herself.

"You'll need a dozen," she informed the dour girl. "They hunt best in schools."

It wasn't often Wednesday felt interested enough in other living people to introduce herself to them of her own violation.

"I'm Wednesday Addams," she stated, extending a cold hand.

The little girl smiled warmly, taking Wednesday's hand and shaking it.

"I'm Matilda. Matilda Wormwood."

Gomez, now absently leafing through a copy of New and Improved Preservation Techiques for the Modern Taxiderist, shifted his gaze smoothly over at the small child with rapt attention.

"Wormwood," he repeated wonderingly. "What a lovely name."

The little girl smiled.

"It's actually the name of a plant used in making absinthe."

A delighted smile flowed out from under the meticulously groomed mustache.

"Yes, I know. My wife cultivates it in our garden for just such purpose."

Matilda quietly spoke again, seeming not to take notice of the man's imposing figure.

"It has lesser known medicinal qualities as well."

Gomez, now entirely enchanted, brightened further.

"How extraordinary."

* * *

 **Well, never done a crossover before but thanks to Pinterest and the enthusiasm of Elishewa and Steve Rogers (thanks, sweeties), here I am.**

 **Hungry for more? A little Morticia perhaps? A dash of Lurch?**

 **Let me know because . . .**

 **Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like. :)**


	2. Women's Empowerment

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Women's Empowerment and Other Topics of Interest

* * *

"Ah! Cara mia! How was the women's empowerment lecture?"

Morticia Addams' bloodred lips curled into a small smile as her doting husband raised her cool hand to his own warm, lusty lips.

"Oh, Gomez. We've just been having the most delightful discussion of some of darkest and most powerful women in history."

Morticia Addams's dark, depthless eyes drifted fondly to the ancient past.

"Elizabeth Bathory, The Mad Countess . . . Agrippina The Younger, The Empress of Poison . . ."

Then her face cleared.

"Then, everyone in the group suddenly had to go. They said they were worried they would miss their last buses and trains."

Over her black clad shoulder, a small group of blue haired tinged, pale faced elderly women in cardigans were sneaking quietly out the front glass door.

"Curious," Gomez observed mildly. "I don't recall there being any trains nearby."

"No," Morticia concurred.

"Pity, they had to leave," her devoted consort continued. "So many powerful and ruthless women yet to be explored. Valeria Messalina The Roman Lolita. Ranavalona I The Mad Monarch of Madagascar."

Morticia seemed to sense the women escaping behind her and turned slightly.

Most shuffled faster, slightly horrified expressions painted on their mortified faces.

"Yes," Morticia murmured. "Well . . ."

One departing, however, caught her eye and waved gaily.

Gleefully clutching a nearly new copy of The Most Evil Women in History.

Morticia Addams' expression curled up into a small, pleased smile, one of her slender folded hands straightening momentarily in a wave of sorts.

". . . perhaps at next month's meeting."

The old woman grinned delightedly and hurried to catch up with her caravan.

"I hope you'll tell tell them about Cheng I Sao," a small, polite voice piped up behind her.

Morticia turned back.

And found, at waist level, a little girl.

Smooth, oval face and intelligent blue eyes.

"She was the most powerful female pirate of the China Seas in the nineteenth century."

Bow in her straight, dark hair almost as red as Morticia's fingernails.

"Ah, where are my manners," Gomez corrected himself gaily. "Ladies, my humblest of apologies."

Then he gestured grandly.

"Matilda Wormwood, may I introduce my enchanting wife, Morticia Addams. 'Tish, Miss Matilda Wormwood."

The lithe temptress might have nearly smiled at the tiny girl her husband had just made her introduction of.

"Matilda Wormwood. What a lovely name. Did you know it means 'strength in battle'?"

Matilda smiled with pride.

"Yes. Thank you."

Then she continued.

"Cheng I Sao commanded over seventy thousand sailors at her height of power and she enforced a strict code against stealing from villages that aided the pirates."

Morticia raised a impressed eyebrow as Matilda carried on.

"She also made it a capital offense to assault female captives. Offenders were beheaded and their bodies thrown overboard."

The two Addams' women stared in mild fascination at the unassuming child before them.

Gomez was practically giddy.

"Isn't she extraordinary, 'Tish?"

Morticia's muted expression radiated interest.

"Quite."

Then . . .

"Perhaps Matilda would like to join us for afternoon tea, Gomez."

The black eyes of the mustached patriarch of the Addams family lit up further.

"What a delightful idea, 'Tish! Your mother is making silkie chicken soup! We'll have plenty to share!"

"I could show you Pugsley's fish tank," Wednesday, the usually taciturn elder child offered in her standard flat tone.

"For the red-bellied piranhas," Matilda smiled.

* * *

"Pugsley, what are you doing?"

The pudgy younger sibling of Wednesday Addams didn't move from his place in the passenger seat of the Addams family car.

"Lurch is teaching me a new game."

And then with their newest witness looking on, the Addams' slackfaced zombie servant placed the point of the gilded, ancient dagger . . .

". . . same blade Brutus used to dispatch Julius Caesar, you know," Gomez declared proudly. "Family heirloom."

. . . between the thumb and forefinger of Pugsley's left hand.

And, with increasing speed, moved it between each of the widespread fingers.

Touching, without piercing, the fine leather beneath the child.

Over and over and over.

Faster and faster and faster.

Until the gleaming shard become nothing more than a blur in the eyes of the attending.

"Six . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one, hold!" declared an exhurberant Gomez.

The knife froze, a centimeter above the generous pinky finger of the ten year old.

"Good show, Pugsley, old man! Nerves of steel, that one," his proud papa declared, clapping him on the shoulder as the rotund boy exited the front seat of the car.

"Lurch, please put Miss Wormwood's belongings in the boot. She will be joining us for tea."

The eight foot tall, lanky entity slowly moved his undead-eyed gaze down to the waiting girl.

"Hello. I'm Matilda. Nice to meet you."

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then gently took her outstretched hand, moving it up and down in a slow gesture before letting go.

"I didn't know zombies had such excellent fine motor control," the child complimented. "That was amazing."

Lurch smiled.

"Hi, I'm Pugsley."

Matilda turned, facing the taller boy.

"Matilda Wormwood, nice to meet you."

They shook hands.

"She's coming home with us," Wednesday updated her younger brother.

Pugsely nodded amicably.

"Oh good, I can show you my fish tank."

Matilda giggled.

"That would be delightful."

* * *

And that was how Matilda Wormwood found herself sitting between the two remaining Addams progeny in the back of the antique black stretch Rolls Royce.

With her little Red Rocket wagon and its squeaky wheel tucked away in the spacious trunk.

* * *

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	3. Pretty Flowers and Chicken Soup

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Pretty Flowers and Chicken Soup

* * *

One might be tempted to write the Addams family home off as a drab and dreary mausoleum of gothic architechure and looming, heavy-handed surrealism.

And one, from a certain point of view, would be correct.

But there was also more to the house and the surrounding lands than met the eye.

Family history, family culture, family pride.

And horticulture.

For, between the cemetery and the house, much closer than the swamp, there lay a black garden.

Well, not exactly black.

Black, was the dominant color, of course.

But there was so much _more_ to those carefully cultivated displays than mere ebony.

There were several shades of dark beauty on display. Velvety, thick reds and viridescent, mossy greens.

Deep purples and confidently dusty indigos.

Matilda Wormwood and her lithe, statuesque tour guide, Mortica Addams, strolled in and amongst the uncommon collection of biennials.

Morticia, black lace umbrella shading her flawless pale skin from the sun's harsh rays, educated her rapt student on some of the more unique greenery as they passed.

". . . Magic Hollyhock. Lovely to behold and quite edible. Only mildly poisonous."

"And what is this?"

"Those are Black Baccera Roses."

"They smell lovely."

"Thank you."

"What are these?"

"Queen of the Night Tulips. A symbol of power and strength. Especially in regard to women."

"And those?"

"Bat Orchards. See how the flower petals unfold to look like wings?"

"Yes. They look like they are going to fly."

"Yes."

"What are those?"

"Those are Heartbeat Oriental Poppies."

Morticia raised a red-painted finger.

"They are very intrusive though. One must be careful that they do not spread out and kill all the other growing things around them."

Matilda's smile was shyly clever.

"Like Ghengis Khan?"

Morticia returned her smile.

"Quite."

And they continued along the path.

"What's this?"

"Raven's Wing. Particularly sought after by all manner of bees and other pollinating insects."

"And this?"

"This is the Australian Cala Lily."

"Is it from Australia?"

"No. It's actually hybridized from plants native to Central and South America."

Before the sharp-minded child could muse over the probability of such an oddly misnomered bloom, a razored crew-cut swathed in black horizontal stripes and kneepants materialized next to them.

"Grandmama sent me to tell you lunch is ready," he announced somewhat formally.

Morticia, subtly eyeing her roundish son with slight suspicion, smiled nevertheless.

As her unsuspecting charge turned to her and smiled beatifically.

"Thank you for showing me your garden, Mrs. Addams. I've never seen anything like it before. It's very beautiful."

Morticia bowed her head ever so slightly, bloodied lips curling into a gracious smile.

"You are most welcome, Matilda."

Then the innocent turned back to Pugsley.

Puglsey Addams who, quite uncharacteristically, very nearly clicked his heels together.

Offered their guest his arm, recently washed.

And, with a pleased smile on his generous face, guided her toward the house.

Amused enchantress mother following behind.

* * *

The silkie chicken soup had been very brothy and filling.

Air still redolent with ginger and coriander.

Tastebuds still atingle with the flavor of red date, green onion, dried shittake mushroom, and wolfberry.

And of course, the black bone silkie chicken itself.

"A triumph, Mama," Morticia commented appreciatively to her grinning, white-haired mother. "I do believe the wolfberry provided the final note of perfection."

Gomez added his enthusiastic agreement.

"Well, they are a nightshade plant, after all."

He turned to Matilda.

"From the genus Lycium from the country Anatolia in Asia Minor."

Matilda, who smiled quietly.

"Well, they couldn't very well come from Romania, could they? Not with all the vampires."

Gomez slapped a pleased hand on the table.

"Fantastic! A geography scholar as well!"

Eyes glowing, he turned to his contented wife.

"Do you remember Romania, darling?"

Morticia smiled fondly.

"Castle Bran-"

"The Black Church-"

"The Hoia Forest-"

"Oh, 'Tish-"

A low, mild voice spoke in Matilda's ear and the young girl turned away from the suddenly enraptured pair to the blank-faced girl next to her.

"Pugsley's fish tank is upstairs."

Matilda followed her.

* * *

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	4. Gilbert

I do not own Matilda or The Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Gilbert

* * *

"He's a Black Lionhead Goldfish."

It was, to say the least, an interesting creature.

Especially for a goldfish.

Proud owner and caregiver (when he remembered), Pugsley Addams, and newcomer and interesting creature herself, Matilda Wormwood, peered into the tank, observing the peacefully swimming piscis.

That tank, which in true Addams' fashion, was quite the mentionable centerpiece in and of itself.

A simple enough, water-filled glass bowl.

Set deep within an antique wrought iron stand taller than Matilda herself.

So tall in fact that she had to balance on a squat, wooden stool for an acceptable view.

"He's a fascinating specimen. Where did you find him?"

Family trip to China, perhaps. Or Japan.

"It was a birthday gift from my Uncle Fester."

Mystifyingly innocuous tradition for such a seemingly untraditional family.

Matilda felt very pleased and satisfied by the revelation.

As she peered into the tank.

At the elegantly fluttering fish.

Icky black scales and fins propelling it gracefully through its world of water.

Bulbous head growths nearly obscuring unlidded eyes from the unassuming world in which it swam.

"I've never seen one with such a large hood before."

Pugsley grinned.

"Sometimes I pretend he's got a brain-eating disease or something that's slowly deforming his skull," he confided in a boyishly simple tone.

Smile faltering as he fully realized for the slightest smidge of a second that he might be acting oddly in the presence of a non-Addams.

Glancing furtively at the red-bowed girl hunching next to him.

The one with the dark, bright eyes that now spoke with a clever, amused smile.

"Or his brains are mutating out of control, M.O.D.O.K of the Black Lionhead Fish."

Matilda Wormwood, avid reader and budding biologist, knew she was speakng inaccurate information.

But sometimes, just sometimes, it was fun to be silly.

Giggling quietly.

As Pugsley, vastly relieved and utterly charmed, resumed his generous, pleased smile.

"Yeah."

Wednesday, neither as affected nor enchanted as her brother, stood behind them.

Arms crossed, face smooth and oval and pale and blank.

"It would be a shame if something happened to it," she intoned pointedly. "I suppose the others would revolt."

Matilda smiled into the aquatic world, delving warmly into the fantasy as it presented itself to her.

"Oh yes. They would feel a 'disturbance in the Force' and don their water-breathing fish suits and charge out to into the waterless world beyond their bowls to avenge The Leader."

As the three children considered this unlikely series of events, a bone-rattling boom reverberated from somewhere deep within the depths of the Addams' family abode.

Shaking the entire estate to its very core..

Dust lightly snowing itself down into Pugsley's dim and murky room and the occupants therein, Wednesday, sea-legs never faltering, spoke to educate the mildly alarmed girl in their presence.

"Father must be testing another one of his inventions."

As if to provide evidence to this theory, muffled, barely discernible exclamations echoed themselves excitedly up through the archaic plumbing

Tremors finally dying away, Pugsley breathed a sigh of relief as he offered a hand to Matilda, who clambered down gratefully from her precarious perch.

"That was a close one," he informed her. "Once, one of the suits of armor fell and almost knocked over the fish tank."

"Oh, re-"

Matilda's interest abruptedly evaporated as clumsy Pugsley nodded, leaning over to pick up a fallen book.

Black short-pantsed bottom connecting unfortunately with one leg of the fish tank.

And overbalancing it inevitably toward a disastrous, glass-shattering, fish-killing mess onto the floor.

If not for their diminutive guest of honor.

As Gilbert the Black Lionhead and newly appointed GrandMaster of Any and All Goldfish sailed serenely toward his impending impact with a well-varnished hardwood floor, Matilda Wormwood took calm and immediate action.

Gilbert, mouth opening and closing in wide-eyed wonder, paused slowly in thin air.

And stopped.

Surrounded by individual diamonds of glittering water droplets and an inverted dome of water trailing after him in a downward path of Death and Destruction.

All this held still in an ethereal and fishy tableau vivant of the fragility of all carbon-based life forms.

Before the entire scene reversed before their very eyes.

Bowl, water, fish, and stand regaining their former correct positioning and safety with nary a sound, a sigh, or a drop of water spilt.

Matilda's pleased smile and exhalation of breath faltered in sudden anxiety as the Addams children turned as one and gazed mutely at her.

For the briefest of eons.

Civilizations rose struggling from the seas and fell back into them again by their own bloated hubris in the time she waited for the rejection of her and her newly acquired talents by these people she had hoped would be her friends.

Then -

"You're a witch."

Matilda blanched at the older girl's flat tone.

"No. No, I'm not. I just-"

Wednesday reiterated.

"You have telekinetic powers."

The girl could not argue this and accepted miserable defeat.

"Yes."

Pugsley's slack jaw still managed to form his only possible words of response.

"Cool."

And both of the Addams children smiled.

* * *

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	5. Parlor Tricks and Family Matters

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Parlor Tricks and Family Matters

* * *

"Ah, sly move, Old Man!"

Still cheery even after losing his dedicated rook in a surprise attack from the strategically clever Thing T. Thing, Gomez flashed a hearty smile.

"A very sly move indeed!"

Just as his rotund offspring burst into the room.

"Mother, Father, Matilda can move things with her mind!"

The interest of Morticia Addams and her mustache-ioed consort were understandably peaked.

"Telekinesis?" Gomez questioned his son in awe, chess game momentarily forgotten.

Already intense dark eyes intensifying further still.

"How _extraordinary_."

Every head, even Morticia's mildly appraising one and Thing's knuckles, turned toward the unassuming girl child.

Who seemed to steady herself, trust in the acceptance of these unique new friends from the library.

And smiled tentatively.

The quiet consideration of the gothically decorated Addams Family sitting room proved too much for the overjoyed Pugsley.

"She saved Gilbert! I knocked his fish tank over and . . ."

And so the tale was told.

Much to the delight of the enthralled family patron and his demure lady upon the davenport.

Wednesday Addams, by nature less exuberant than her brother, nevertheless was also taken with their new supernaturally enabled acquittance.

Though trademarkedly stoic all the same.

"Is this true, Matilda?" Morticia inquired upon the completion of Puglsey's retelling.

Matilda nodded shyly.

"How does it work?" The enchanted Gomez prodded, rising slowly as his curiosity swelled. "Do you cast a dark spell? Imbibe a magical potion?"

Matilda giggled, sweet and innocent.

"No. I just think about it."

And in lieu of further verbal explanation, a hammered silver vase full of freshly beheaded, extra thorny roses levitated itself from a distant table.

And smoothly floated itself over to Morticia.

Setting down near her on the waiting trolley.

For simply nothing more than her enjoyment and pleasure.

"Oh, Matilda . . . thank you . . ."

And Gomez's onyx marble queen, of her own volition, crossed the board diagonally . . .

"Aha! Checkmate! Well played, Matilda!"

. . . to snare the snow white marble king.

And the Addams family found themselves more and more intrigued by this youngest of natural magic users.

* * *

 _Tink! Tink! Tink! Tink!_

The sounds of fencing lances rang throughout the estate.

"Aha!"

Gomez Addams, lance in hand, parried a blow from the the hand of Thing.

"En garde, Old Man!"

Narrowly sweeping aside the blunted edge of the third sword in play.

"Good show, dear girl!"

Wielded from a safe distance by the mind of one supernaturally minded . . .

"Aha! Me thinks you must have jousted before!"

. . . Matilda Wormwood.

Even as Morticia Addams-

"Grrrr!"

-found she could not resist a knife throw-

"Ah! I expected as much, my temptress!"

-only to be caught by the gleaming teeth-

"But I shall not be vanquished so easily!"

-of her enraptured compeer.

"No, not I!"

And Pugsley and Wednesday . . .

"How all occasions do inform against me and spur my dull revenge!"

. . . re-enacted once more . . .

"What is a man, of his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed?"

. . . the less bloodier parts . . .

"What is a man, a beast, no more!"

. . . of their favorite Shakespearean masterpiece.

"Sure, he that made us with such large discourse . . ."

* * *

"I've very much enjoyed spending the afternoon with you, but I think I need to get back now. Miss Honey will be worried."

She had been comfortably sitting next to the bear skin rug.

Scratching him gently behind his tuffed ears.

Smiling as he growled in contentment.

And then, as a responsible, considerate child is wont to do, she had paused.

Thought.

And spoke.

Gomez's glowing face reflected a mild, restrained horror as he processed her words.

"Miss . . . Honey?"

Matilda seemed to not notice.

"Yes. Miss Honey. She adopted me when I emancipated myself from my parents."

Morticia, still seated on the davenport, coolly latched onto that which her husband had not.

"Emancipated?"

Pugsley, unconcerned, continued his inspection of some frayed wiring near the curtains.

And Wednesday paused in her literary study of red-bellied piranhas. That which had brought the Wormwood into their existence in the first place.

Matilda continued.

"Yes. They were . . . not nice."

Morticia waited. Gomez waited.

And Matilda, uncomfortable topic no excuse for poor manners, continued once again.

Voice small and thin.

Like herself.

"They yelled at me all the time. Made fun of me for reading. They were cruel and selfish and greedy people."

After a moment, when this clearly would not suffice, she continued a third time.

"They ran away to Spain to avoid jail for money extortion. I didn't want to go with them. I asked them to give me up to Miss Honey and let her adopt me. They did."

Cool, calm, and collected vampress and seductress Morticia Addams' face pinched imperceptibly.

"I don't understand," she intoned softly, lowering her knitting. "Who would give up their child?"

Gomez rose at his wife's muted distress.

Went to her side, taking her hand in his.

Dark eyes burning in their sockets.

"No one in their right minds. You would have to pry our children from my cold, dead fingers to take them from me."

"Oh, Gomez," Morticia rebuffed gently, eyes threatening moisture. "This is no time to discuss party tricks. This is a _child_."

For even those without a warmly, beating heart may still feel love and compassion.

Matilda, however, bathed in the love and compassion of her long adopted mother, moved on.

Brightening considerably.

"Oh, don't worry. Miss Honey is very nice. She takes good care of me. She loves me. She's my family."

Morticia appeared to relax a bit.

And Gomez's face now softened, murderous gleam fading a touch.

"Well, your Miss . . . Honey . . . sounds like a true verdadera familia, no, 'Tish?"

Morticia's hand sought his as she spoke.

"Yes, family is the most important thing in the world, Matilda. Wherever it is found."

The moment held as the cruel, harsh world beyond the Addams family abode was considered.

And then, Gomez cleared.

"Well, it won't do for Miss Honey to worry then. Would you like to start on your way home, my dear little Miss Matilda?"

The little girl nodded.

"Yes. Thank you."

Gomez nodded.

"Lurch?"

The zombie, maid's hat perched upon his squarish head, appeared in the oaken doorway.

"Bring the car 'round. Our guest would like to go home."

* * *

 **Special thanks to these gentle readers for previously reviewing: secretwhovianpony, Nemo, jeremy's wife, jesi ki kage, jaguarspot, MasqueradingDragon, Mama May-Eye, Lalathefox, Niajuliette, emmala223, shukkets, blackmailingqueen, Lita of Jupiter, SR. UKI, clairbear2319, slyfoxcub, ShiningStarSmilyXD, feral creature, ParadoxicOrder8, anomicstephy, Nyla Evergale, LittleAngel2292, DeathLadyShinigami, fringeperson, TrilbyBard, Catkyn, PheonixQueen15, etLapin, and three very gracious guests!**

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	6. Honey-ed Peaches

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Honey-ed Peaches

* * *

"Miss Honey, I'd like you meet my new friends, the Addams family."

Lurch had smoothly and easily piloted the Addams' Rolls Royce away from the gothically architectured estate atop Cemetary Hill.

Down through the humble, little adjoining hamlet of a town.

Past the newly renamed Honey's Elementary School.

And down the tree-lined gravel path to the newly rejuvenated Honey Estate.

Pristinely cut green lawns.

Large, healthy, leafy oak trees.

Beds upon beds of brightly-colored, fragrant flowers.

All under blue skies, puffy cottonball clouds, and pleasant early summer breezes.

And, of course, there was Jennifer Honey herself.

Clothed in a simple, white button down dress.

White sun hat.

And gentle, kind, somewhat befuddled expression upon her rosy, oval face.

Matilda waving gaily as the car rolled to a stop.

Tossing aside proper decorum to unlatch the door the moment the zombie chauffeur/butler/organist drew the car to a halt at the curve of the drive.

And fairly leaping from the car to run and throw herself with joy at her adoptive mother.

"Matilda, sweetheart, where have you been?" Miss Honey had questioned gently after a big hug and sweet cheek smooch. "What is going on?"

And thus, Matilda had spoken.

"Miss Honey, I'd like you meet my new friends, the Addams family."

They were surely a sight to behold, the Addams there before Miss Honey.

Seven foot tall, blank-faced, zombified Lurch.

Physically diminutive, but unflinchingly imposing Wednesday.

Her lithe, statuesque, red-lipped and nailed mother Morticia.

Gomez himself, mustached and pin-striped self-confidence.

And the crew-cut Pugsley, round, squat.

And completely, absolutely moonfaced and carefree over the new and unfamiliar surroundings.

The birds _might_ have momentarily stopped chirping in the trees.

The squirrels _might_ have momentarily stopped playfully romping through the branches.

As Miss Honey took them all in with her warm, dark eyes.

Valiantly attempting to process these unusual beings her beloved and trusted Matilda had abruptly dropped into her light and cheery afternoon environment.

"Well, hello," she managed with a slightly uncertain smile. "I'm Jennifer Honey. It's nice to meet you."

As pater families of the Addams family brood and always dashing gentleman, Gomez Addams stepped forward.

"Good afternoon, dear lady. I am Gomez Addams. Such a delight to make your acquaintance."

A sweeping bow, a gentile kiss of the hand.

A reassuring smile at the somewhat startled young woman who still managed to just hold her smile.

"Uh, nice to meet you."

Then, a lavish turn, a proud gesture.

The seductress approaching.

"Please allow me to introduce my lovely wife, Morticia . . ."

And introductions had been made.

After that there was only one thing left to say.

For the third time.

"So . . . nice to meet all of you."

And then a brave addition.

"Would you like to, uh, come in for tea?"

* * *

In the time of Agatha Trunchbull, the vast house had been thick and dusty with aged, Victorian adornments.

Unappreciated and unloved by the hardly matron-ish woman.

Now she was gone.

And the house remained.

Yards and yards of Persian rugs.

Claw-footed tapestried sitting furniture.

Marble-topped end tables and the like.

The winding, grand staircase, handrail polished to a sheen.

Revived crystal chandeliers and stained-glass lamps.

Laced, hanging curtains.

Diamond patterned wallpaper and varnished hardwood floors.

Rows and rows of shelves laden with leather-bound books.

Gold framed mirrors and antique paintings upon the walls.

Filigreed knickknacks and cedar boxes, hidden mysteries awaiting within.

Comfortably crocheted patterned quilts perfect for long nights to next a roaring fire.

All encased within thick, dark, wood-paneled walls.

All from a bygone era when proper decorum was the only real propriety that mattered.

All those items yet remained within Jennifer Honey's vast and much loved abode.

Save for Agatha Trunchball's extensive weighted metal exercise equipment, clothes, and personal accouterments, it was all there.

Just as it was.

The same.

And yet, all so different.

Those things that remained were so because they had been her father's and grandfather's and great-grandfather's.

But not stuffily-much.

Not morgue-ish and depressing and morose and unmovable in time and space.

For on rainy or cold days when their minds were full of books and their bodies wanted for activity, Miss Honey and her young charge pushed back the furniture to the perimeter of the Great Room.

And roller skated.

Or hulahooped.

Or simply . . .

"I love this song!"

"Me too!"

. . , danced and twirled until they fell dizzy onto the floor and laughed themselves silly with delight.

It was into this room, furniture currently arranged for cozy discussions and comfortable reads, and of course, tea, that Miss Honey now ushered her unexpected guests.

"Please make yourselves at home. I'll be right back with the tea."

If she wanted to, in her mind's eye, Matilda could envision her angelic Miss Honey traversing the hall.

Entering the large, sparkling, white-tiled, squarish kitchen.

Moving past the open backstairs door, stairwell beyond now cleared of the clutter its previous owner had simply thrown down it in dismissal.

Past the kitchen table with its small vase of fresh flowers.

And to the sink, to fill the polished tea pot.

The pantry, with waiting tea bags.

And finally the stove.

Heating, steeping.

Eventually whistling its readiness.

And Matilda smiled.

Before redirecting herself to her new found friends.

"Would anyone like to listen to some music?"

And the record player clicked itself on.

* * *

Wednesday immediately began, at their tiny hostess' happy nod, to peruse the vast book collection.

Pugsley to inspect the the baseboards for potential rodent hidey-holes.

Lurch, to well, stand.

And Morticia and Gomez, gazing around in mild curiosity, to perch on the coral loveseat.

As Matilda smiled happily at the new friends she had . . .

"Here we go. Tea for everyone."

. . . brought into her happy, loving home.

"And sweet ricotta peach cookies!"

Nearly bulbous dark eyes within a rictus-ed politely mannered face.

"Peach?"

"Yes! Dusted with powdered sugar."

And Wednesday Addams, seeming to not notice her father's mild distress, casually redirected the conversation.

"Do you have any piranhas?"

"Pardon?"

* * *

 **So now Gomez and Morticia are eating peach cookies.**

 **Can you imagine?**

 **What I can't imagine is having over three hundred favorites/followers of this story! Unbelievable, you all, thank you so very much! :D**

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	7. Guillotines Among Friends

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Guillotines Among Friends

* * *

Miss Jennifer Honey's father, Doctor Magnus Honey, despite his imposing moniker, had in actuality, been a good, gentle man of his age.

He had loved his wife.

Loved his daughter.

Loved healing the ailments, as he could, to his patients, providing a warm, competant, and caring bedside manner.

He'd been a man of very few vices.

A strong cup of black coffee with two sugars at break of day.

A long, indulgent evening by the fire with a good book in hand.

Jules Vern, perhaps.

The teachings of Aristotle.

Box of chocolates close at hand during these times.

A nibble, a nosh. A share with his beloved little Bumblebee.

He very much favored tweed jackets.

And he smoked cigars.

The smell of them, tobaccoy and aromatically almost sweet, was a sentimental olfactory memory embedded deep within Jennifer's Honey's childhood memory banks.

Her father, smoke wreathing his head.

Holding the box, inviting her to select a delicious morsel for them to share.

So was Magnus Honey.

So when the grown daughter herself noticed Gomez Addams' tactile tell of subtly turning his cigar cutter over and over in one hand, she immediately recognized the piece for what it was.

"What a lovely guillotine, Mr. Addams. Wherever did you acquire it?"

And Gomez Addams, dark eyes slowly alighting with realization at his perceptive hostess' accurate classification, brought his plaything into view.

Long and slender for containment yet solid and with heft.

Bronze and silver.

Solemn-faced maiden of flowing hair etched in enchanting relief along the side.

An amateur might yet even mistake the handheld item for a pocketknife.

Gomez Addams, however, having never considered carrying such an uncivilized item upon his person . . .

"Very good eye, Miss Honey. And correct definition as well . . ."

. . . more a dram of poison or a bejeweled dagger man . . .

"Would you like to see it?"

"Oh yes, please."

. . . passed it over to the school mistress.

And Jennifer Honey, hold careful and considerate, took it.

Raising it up to fascinated eye level.

Smiling softly in appreciation and sentiment as its owner orated eloquently upon said item.

". . . -ginally owned by one of Maximilien Robespierre's personal advisors if I am to remember correctly . . ."

". . . perhaps the very same one what did him in . . ."

". . . Reign of Terror from which he himself could not escape . . ."

And his captive audience ran a gentle finger along the engraved rubenesque figure.

"And the maiden? What do you know of her?"

Here Gomez's gleam faded momentarily.

"Of that, I have no knowledge, sadly."

Before brightening once more.

"Though I have said on more than one occasion, it must be the caste of my lovely wife, such is her perfection and grace upon the bronze, have I not, 'Tish?"

Turning once again upon his deathly pale bride.

Whose red lips curled slightly in a pleased smile.

"You have, darling."

And raised a cold hand to his.

"For she . . .

Who gripped it, gentle and strong.

". . . is the only siren call my heart shall ever hear upon the waves . . ."

Raising it to his mustached lips.

". . . of all the seas of passion evermore."

And kissing.

"Oh, Gomez."

With a barely restrained ardor.

"Cara mia . . ."

Diminished not by the their years and decades of sacred companionship.

"Care for more tea, Mr. Addams?"

"Pardon?"

* * *

"If you don't mind my asking, how exactly did you and Matilda come to be so closely acquainted in only a few short hours?"

Her inquiry, mildly toned though it was, also carried a note of mild concern familiar to all parental figures when their charges arrive home with unusual playtime pals.

Such as now resided, with varying degrees of comfort . . .

"Do you ever hear things scratching in the walls at night while you're sleeping?"

"Well, uh, no, uh, Pugsley, I don't think so. Why?"

"No reason."

. . . in Jennifer Honey's light and airy living room, nibbling on sweet ricotta peach cookies dusted with powdered sugar.

"These cookies are quite . . . nectarous, Miss Honey."

And sipping sweet tea.

"Thank you, Mrs. Addams. They're my grandmother's recipe. Would you like me to write it down for you?"

Auditory sensory systems currently berated by the de-wop-ey likes of Thurston Harris, Fats Domino, and Marty Wilde.

". . . -king, talking honeycomb . . ."

Although at a much lower volume now that conversation was pleasantly being shared.

"Oh, well . . ."

Particularly polite conversation regarding how sweet innocent little Matilda Wormwood came to bring home such unique new friends in the space of less than six hours.

". . . dear lady, that is quite the tale, isn't it, 'Tish?"

And thusly it was told.

Jennifer Honey's literary enthusiasms sung at the thought of Gomez Addams traipsing his children to the town library in search of books.

Her undercurrent of historical feminism popped up its curious head at Morticia's particularly-themed women's empowerment lecture.

Her protective mother heart paled slightly at Matilda hopping willy-nilly into a car with virtual strangers.

Her politely-constrained curiosity raised its eyebrows at the black-not-black garden and the silkie chicken soup.

Her animal safety switch toggled at the concern for the Unfortunately Flying Gilbert.

Her alarm bell briefly buzzed at Matilda's revelation of her kinestic powers.

And her child's enchantment leapt at the ensuing merriment that had taken place thereafter.

And when the story was concluded, . . .

". . . home before you worried. And, of course, here we are."

. . . she managed a slightly overwhelmed smile.

"Well," she brushed back a strand of unharmed dark hair from Matilda's pale face, child perched on the footstool next to her.

"It sounds like you had quite an adventure, Matilda."

The girl nodded up in adoration at her adoptive mother.

"Oh yes. I'm so glad I went to the library today. We're very lucky the Addams are our new friends. Don't you think?"

Jennifer Honey reflexively looked up at her gothic guests.

Gomez Addams, slightly wild-eyed smile softened a touch by the charm of the special child.

Morticia, tea cup held delicately in blood-red tipped fingers, demure smile and glittering black eyes, also pleasant in demeanor and friendly intent.

Pugsley, uninvolved and unaware, facing away from the scene, generous short-pantsed bottom up as he, head nearly touching the floor, peered at something of boyish interest.

Lurch, existing at attention in the corner. Peaceful and polite zombie man-servant.

And, of course, Wednesday Addams, perpetrator of all, leather bound book in hand, standing near Magnus Honey's bookshelf.

"Did you know that the library at Alexandria only existed because ships entering the city were forced to turn over all their books to be copied?"

A beam from the father of the reader.

"Well, that's one way to do it!"

And Jennifer Honey smiled.

* * *

 **Maximilien Robespierre, instrumental player in the French Revolution. Liked to guillotine "enemies of the revolution". His control didn't last long. They turned around and beheaded him too.o**

 **Thanks to Clairbear2319, Mama May-Eye, DarkMe, anomicstephy, Lord Mortensen, my day job, JJOAS, etLapin, Manchester, and WillowBarkTea for so graciously reviewing!**

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 **Wow! Seriously, you all (and the silent readers) are the absolute best! Thank you so much! :D**


	8. Uncle Fester, The Professor

I do not own Matilda or the Addams Family.

I do own books.

Matilda Wormwood, Meet Wednesday Addams

Uncle Fester, The Professor

* * *

". . . for the party, Uncle Fester."

"Fantastic!"

The nearly-neckless man with the dark circles around his moony eyes slammed the huge leather bound tome on his lap shut, redistributing it on his creaky single bed.

"I've just been reading up on some of the worst plagues in human history! I thought they could serve for some light dinner conversation with our guests!"

As the little girl with the red bow in her hair carefully absorbed this rather odd introduction to the baldest member of the Addams Family, the ever stoic Wednesday Addams backtracked considerately for the sake of her friend.

"Uncle Fester, this is Matilda Wormwood. Matilda, this is my Uncle Fester."

Fester Addams, bulbous dark eyes agleam not entirely unlike his much more sophiscated and folliclely-gifted brother, responded once again with unmitigated joy at the prospect of welcoming this never before seen stranger into his bizarre midst.

"Matilda, so nice to meet you! Ah! You're the one Wednesday met at the library last week!"

The pleased girl nodded.

"Ooh, fantastic!"

Then the formerly falsely fostered Fester fidgeted fecklessly.

And hunched, even more so than usual.

Whispering conspiratorially as he did.

"Is it true you really have supernatural abilities?"

Matilda, amused at his barely contained childish glee, smiled.

And nodded.

"Can I . . Can I . . ."

Fester attempted to utilize his entire modicum of adult propriety.

Before collapsing under the weight of cat-killing curiosity.

"Can I _see_?"

Looking for all the world like overgrown hopeful kid at Christmas.

Matilda nodded again.

And winked.

As the forgotten tome behind the potato-shaped form flipped open by itself.

With nary a stirring breeze or other movement in the dim and dank room.

"O-"

To the table of contents.

"-h!"

Fester stood, jaw agape, as the slip of a girl eased past him.

To peer with mild interest at the list of chapters contained within "A Brief History of the World's Worst Pandemics".

"Antonine Plague . . . Plague of Justinian . . . will you be discussing the role the plague played weakening the formerly strong Byzantine Empire, effectively enabling the defeat of Justinian himself?"

A bubonically-saturated Tsetse fly could have knocked Fester Addams to the ground.

As the briefest hint of a smile touched the corner of Wednesday's mouth.

Meanwhile, Fester, not a self-preserving bone in his generous body, finally managed a gasp of syllables.

"Of course! It was one of my main points!"

Maitilda continued perusing the listings.

"Black Death . . . oh, is that why you're wearing that Plague Doctor costume, Wednesday?"

Wednesday, mask in hand, did not nod.

"It's no costume. Mother says it belonged to my Uncle Knick Knack."

Curious query completed, Matilda turned back to Fester.

"Will you also bring up that medical dissection was finally approved by the Pope during The Black Plague? It was a very important advancement for modern medicine."

Fester was beside himself, metaphorically, with joy.

"How else would they know there was an upside to the deaths of two million people?!"

* * *

"Alexander Fleming's work in desperately overcrowded hospitals during the Spanish Flu Pandemic was one of the driving factors leading to the eventual discovery of penicillin!"

Dinner was going along swimmingly.

"I thought it was because he was too lazy to clean up after himself," Pugsley commented, his belief in his commonship with the famed scientist momentarily rattled.

Matilda amused smile was sweet to behold.

"That too."

And Pugsley grinned.

"Now, as for the _third_ cholera epidemic of the 1850's . . ." Professor Fester continued unabated.

Miss Honey, the newest acquaintance of said historian, appeared somewhat pale.

Matilda leaned toward her.

"Don't worry, Miss Honey. It's the way scientists figured out people needed to keep their drinking water clean."

Miss Honey smiled gamely at her adopted daughter.

"Is it?"

And poked politely at her plate of fermented tea leaves salad some clever Addams cook had prepared especially for her upon learning of her proclivity for vegetarianism.

". . . stench of the vomit and uncontrollable diarhea from the cholera tents could be smelled for miles around the quarantine areas . . ."

* * *

 **Hello, gentle readers! No, I did not fall off the planet. Yes, I did just write a chapter inspired of the godforsaken Coronavirus-19.**

 **I hope you all are as safe and healthy and stircrazy as I am.**

 **And yes, I do take it seriously; it's an awful thing.**

 **You know what else I take seriously but that is a _good_ thing?**

 **You!**

 **So many thanks to these awesome reviewers:** **meshou-storm** , **ThePastaDragon, Bri, Guest, enchanted nightingale, Butterfly Wings Chaos Theory, warriorQueen13, etLapin, MasqueradingDragon, anomicstephy, blackmailingqueen, fringeperson, Seth A. Mincberg, CreativeLibrarian, secretwhovianpony, jaguarspot, PheonixQueen15, nundu48, and LittleAngel2292!**

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 **Be safe, be well, and see you all for the last (I think, you never know) chapter, coming in the not _too_ distant (oh, stop rolling your eyes) future.**


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